


A Mutual Exercise

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Open Relationships, Sharing a Bed, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2249430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when Drax turned to him one day and said "So, Starlord, do you wish to share my bed?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mutual Exercise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [prompt at comment-fic](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/548765.html?thread=77558173#t77558173).

It all started when Drax turned to him one day and said "So, Starlord, do you wish to share my bed?" 

There were times like this when, frustrating as it was, Peter was really glad Drax always meant what he said and said what he meant (and was faithful, one hundred percent). Because Drax was offering his bedspace, literally. The Milano wasn't exactly the biggest ship in the universe, and there wasn't a ton of bunk space. 

That and Gamora needed some alone time. Her body mods needed maintenance, or refueling, or... something. Peter hadn't asked the details after she'd started pulling out things to plug into herself and explained she was going to be out for a day or two while she did... upgrades.

Which left Peter bed-less. He had _not_ been looking forward to curling up on a mattress on the floor, not with Rocket likely to rig something on him to blow as soon as he woke up.

"Uh... sure. Thanks."

"The bed is originally yours," Drax pointed out with his impeccable logic, and Peter just didn't bother to argue the point because... Drax. Not wanting to make things more awkward than they already were, Peter just flopped on the half Drax left him, pulled up a blanket, and tried to sleep the wonderful sleep of not being on the floor.

\---

To say his and Gamora's relationship was open was to call space "kinda large." Peter hadn’t ever done the monogamy thing, partially because the Ravagers didn’t exactly take you places where nice girls were, and partially because he’d never met someone he’d wanted to learn more about than what could be learned in an hour of sweaty aerobics. With Gamora, he might. She’d done more for him, and with him, in a few days than some people had in years, and none of that had involved sex. Adding sex on top of that hadn’t made things cheap, it had made things better.

But Gamora hadn’t had the freedom Peter had wrested for himself when he’d left the Ravagers, the freedom to choose, to go where he wanted, meet people on his own terms. Gamora had never had that, always on some mission or another, not even her body really her own. So Peter could be understanding and open-minded and-.

Look, he’s very, very new to any personal concept of monogamy. She wants space to explore. It’s really fun to watch her do it. And she’s got her own issues, and he can respect that.

But it makes for an awkward night when Gamora is upgrading and Peter doesn’t exactly feel comfortable rubbing one out when he’s in Drax’s personal space. And his body isn’t interested in listening to excuses, because he’s used to taking things into his own hands on the regular, if there was no willing partner. He just tries to flop on his side, rebellious dick pointing away from the guy who calls himself “The Destroyer,” and think of very bad things to will his erection away.

He fails spectacularly. 

It’s halfway through the night-cycle, his penis still hasn’t gotten the message, and Drax taps him on the shoulder.

“Starlord, would you care to engage in a short-term mutual sexual exercise?”

Peter doesn’t laugh himself sick because he likes his head attached to his body. But he thinks about it really, really hard.

There are also things he should be thinking about, like this might not be the greatest of ideas. As usual, he dismisses those pointless thoughts very quickly. He would very, very, very much like to have some sex before he has to try to walk around the ship with a hard-on. Also, specified short-term, which is awesome, because Peter technically has three wives and a husband on three different planets and a space station due to some misunderstandings about local mating customs.

“Yeah?” he asks, just to make sure he heard that right. Because a misunderstanding at this moment would be bad. 

“I would enjoy the release. It has been a difficult time for all of us, and an orgasm is useful for clearing thinking processes. Amongst my people, fellow warriors engaged in such exercises frequently.”

Nope, no misunderstanding there. Peter can’t dream anything that bizarre, and he’s sharing ship-space with a talking raccoon. He drops his futile attempts at modesty as he sits up and turns around, the bulge in his pants blindingly obvious.

“I’d like that. A lot.”

Drax nods solemnly, like he’s agreeing to a pact of mutual defense in the midst of war, but there’s a little less tension in those massive shoulders.

Peter’s been around the galaxy a few times, and while he generally prefers his flings, excuse me, “short-term mutual sexual exercise partners,” of the female shape, he’s not blind to the appeal of someone else, muscles, red scars, and all. 

He goes for the “how to fuck a human” instructions immediately, because it only took him once of saying, “Just go with what feels good to you,” as a stupid teen to end up with a nasty scar near his liver and losing his voice for two weeks. At least he’s done this enough to make it sound sexy, even if he’s got to strip every hint of metaphor out of it because he is _not_ going to be ambiguous with Drax when his genitals are on the line.

“Make sure I can breathe.” He runs his hands over his mouth and nose, and trails down to his open collar, opening fasteners on his shirt as he does, “Don’t block them except for five seconds or less. Super-light or no pressure on my throat. Careful putting weigh on my chest and stomach.” He reveals each part as he talks, shirt falling off, caressing his own body for Drax to see, and is pretty gratified by the small smile on his face. “It feels _really_ good to touch here.” He holds his erection in his hand briefly, finished stripping off his pants, and returned to slowly stroke himself, touching his balls. “Touch, don’t crush. Seriously. That will end this, uh, exercise right now, because I will be in a lot of pain.”

Drax is pulling off his own pants, and, oh good, Drax is more-or-less the same configuration as Peter, so that saves a little time. The rest of the explanation could get a little Dick-and-Jane, but assumptions in the bedroom with aliens are one of Peter’s personal no-nos. 

“I will be careful how much force I apply,” Drax said solemnly. “Though from fighting alongside you, I think you are far tougher than you initially appear, Starlord.”

Which is flattering and all, but Peter has just enough wit to hope Drax really means it about holding back, because he’d rather not end up trying to doctor himself. Drax’s hand closes around Peter’s dick, and Peter frantically arches into his touch, damn close already just from the newness of the stimulation. Also, scrambles for the lubricant he keeps stashed in his pants for, um… exactly and precisely the purpose of unplanned sex, because while Drax is gloriously hot, and his sword callouses are a whole extra level of good-intense, in a little bit that could go straight to painful, so he douses all frictional surfaces liberally.

“Very pleasant.” Drax shifts nearer, one arm around Peter to pull them close, getting his big hand around Peter and himself together to stroke them at the same time. He’s hot, so hot, thick and hard against Peter, and Drax is stroking firmly, thoroughly, root to tip on both of them. Peter’s got one hand around the back of Drax’s neck to steady himself, the other trying to help Drax encircle them both, hips churning as he chases the friction, already way too close and pretty positive he’s going to embarrass himself.

“You are about to climax?” and holy _fuck_ how can Drax sound so damn calm?

And then he is, right there, Drax hard and rough around him, hot and hard against him, and Peter’s right on the edge and then over it, spurting white onto their hands as the sharp pleasure pierces him, lights him up, brilliant and so damn good he can’t feel any shame. There’s an intake of breath, like Drax found it a surprise. His hand stills, going a little tighter, almost to the point of pain, but not quite.

“Starlord, bite down hard, here, now, with all your strength!” All of a sudden Drax has Peter’s head against that slab of muscle that passes for his juncture of neck and shoulder in an implacable grip, and Peter’s been asked to do much weirder shit to help please his partners. So he bites down hard, savagely, and feels the tissue give a little under his teeth. 

Drax’s skin, his brain notes carefully, tastes exactly like cinnamon red hots.

Then Drax lets out a long sigh, and Peter feels a few spurts of something almost burning warm hit his hand as Drax softens against him. 

Oh good, good, another similarity. He’d once bedded someone who came needles. Seriously. He has the scars to prove it.

Drax pulls back at the same time Peter does, and Peter has the vague presence of mind to wipe the mess away with a corner of the sheet.

“That was very satisfactory. Sleep, Starlord.” A polite nod of his head, and two seconds later Drax is flat on his back and out like a light.

See? Metaphor. 

Peter lays back down, and listens to the Milano hum around them, the ship his only real home he’s ever had. The people in it, the only real friends he’s ever had.

Yeah, he thinks he could learn to like this a lot.


End file.
